out.

"You know, boys, I wish that I was a yachtsman with a good roll to back
it up. Why, do you know them fellers take lots of chances and it's very
seldom that they lose their craft? Of course, I have navigated over more
of the sea than you, having been coasters all your lives. And do you
know there is hardly a port in the world where I haven't seen a pretty,
trim American yacht lying at anchor or haven't passed them on the seven
seas? And never have I found one in great distress--except for being out
o' some particular kind of liquor. With we fellers it's different. We're
always in some kind o' trouble, not to mention being constantly out o'
all kinds o' liquors. And then we are scairt o' our lives, or run
aground or burn up, and so lose our master's papers, which means our
job."

The speaker paused to clear his throat noisily. Then he went on:

"Speaking along these lines reminds me of a little yacht we passed on
the run up, off Ocracoke Inlet. She was a long ways off shore, headed
in. But I guess she made the inside all right in spite of the waves
running high and breaking and the strength of the wind increasing with
every flaw. Her name was _The Isabel_. And it's my opinion the captain
of that yacht ought to be in the crazy house or dead."

Somehow at the outset, the narrative had riveted the attention of Roy
and Van Dusen. It was as if their intuitions warned them that something
significant was to issue from the mariner's rambling remarks. The
utterance of the yacht's name thrilled them both, and they stared at
each other for a moment with startled eyes. Then they listened again
with new intentness as the speaker continued his account:

"It was just after daylight. I had been on the bridge all through the
night, for I was anxious over our position, should the hurricane break
with full force. I knew from the glass that it was close on us. I was
looking dead ahead. Suddenly out of the mist appeared a craft as white
and trim as a swan. She would plunge forward on a giant wave, then
disappear for a moment in the trough, to appear again right side up, and
coming at full speed to meet the next one. She was driving so fast that
often she would force herself through, rather than over, the oncoming
waves. I just naturally kept expecting from second to second that that
fool skipper, sending her along at such reckless speed, would bury her
so deep that it would be impossible for her to shake off the tons of
brine, and